


come over now & talk me down

by outcrown



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Edging, Grounding/PTSD Coping Mechanisms, M/M, Orgasm Delay, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 20:18:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16047812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outcrown/pseuds/outcrown
Summary: ❝ It's one of the harder days. Shiro skips dinner entirely, mumbles something about not having an appetite, and it takeseverythingKeith has to not forcibly drag Shiro back into the kitchen, to push him own into one of the chairs, and feed him whatever he can quickly scrounge up in the pantry. But he can't force it. ❞Shiro spirals on the bad days; Keith knows exactly how to ground him.





	come over now & talk me down

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at midnight while drunk on prosecco so there's been practically no editing done, sry sry sry.  
>   
> Also there is mentions/vague allusion to Shiro spiraling in a PTSD episode due to stress, and depiction of Keith helping him through a grounding exercise at the beginning of the fic. You can skip this by finding the line "Except tonight is different" and that should bypass that entire scene. :)

It's one of the harder days. Shiro skips dinner entirely, mumbles something about not having an appetite, and it takes _everything_ Keith has to not forcibly drag Shiro back into the kitchen, to push him own into one of the chairs, and feed him whatever he can quickly scrounge up in the pantry. But he can't force it, can't force any of it, even when Keith knows that going to bed on an empty stomach isn't the greatest idea Shiro has ever had. He considers grabbing something anyway, bringing it to the bedroom with him, but Keith still feels like it's infringing on Shiro's choices and opts to simply pad down the hallway to their room with only a glass of water in hand that will eventually find its way to their bedside.  
  
Leaning in the doorway as he watches Shiro in their en suite, brushing his teeth, avoiding the mirror, Keith does his best to stay put. While he'd very much like to close the distance, to wrap around Shiro from behind, to press his forehead between his shoulders, to splay his hands across his chest to keep him still- It's not what Shiro really needs right now, it's not what's going to keep him grounded. Keith knows what it looks like when Shiro spirals, when old memories claw their way up his spine, cloud his eyes, and it takes more than just a press of hands or a kiss to get him out of it.  
  
Which is why he waits.  
  
Keith's eyes stay trained on Shiro as he moves about their room, preparing his clothes for the next day, putting his previously used ones into the hamper, and finally stopping at the edge of their bed. There's an exhaustion in him that Keith hasn't seen in quite some time, heavy on his shoulders, and it looks as though it takes herculean levels of vigor to pull the sheets back in order to crawl into bed. He simply sits at first, blankets pulled up over one leg while the other stays planted on the floor, gaze finally finding Keith on the other side of the room. A hint of a smile quirks at the corner of Shiro's mouth when he finds Keith watching him, but even that seems to take more energy than he has available.  
  
Before Shiro can question if his boyfriend is coming to bed, Keith begins the slow trek over to Shiro's side of the bed. He removes his shirt first, tossed carelessly to the floor, and steps out of his pants next; there's a moment where he considers taking his boxers off as well, but Keith opts to keep them on, makes the next part of this easier if they're not jumping too far ahead. He has to make sure that Shiro isn't spiraling, has to get him focused, before he can help him forget.  
  
Guiding Shiro fully into the bed, Keith crawls in after him, settling into Shiro's lap with no hesitation. Reaching up, Keith rests his hands upon his shoulders, fingers curling over them firmly; an obvious weight, a pressure to get Shiro back to him. While his voice isn't harsh, it's firm, ensuring his boyfriend will _listen_. "Where are we?"  
  
Shiro's jaw works for a moment, as though debating on the answer, as though it might be difficult (some days, it is). His answer comes a moment later, "Earth. Home." A pause, his eyes lifting to meet Keith's as he clarifies, "Our home."  
  
"That's right," Keith agrees, his hands moving down, left thumb pressed tight against Shiro's right pectoral, continuing to work Shiro back to him. "What's our house number?"  
  
There's a catch of breath in Shiro's throat; that one requires more focus. "Seventy-four," he tells him, voice sure, eyes brighter than they'd been before.  
  
A slight quirk to Keith's lips come at his next question, can't keep the affection out of his tone, "Whose last name are we taking when we get married?"  
  
Keith can see Shiro absently rub his thumb against the metal of the band around his ring finger, the one that they picked out together after Keith accepted the proposal. Between the touch of the ring, the weight of Keith's hands, and the nature of the question, Shiro's voice regains its warmth, the familiarity, as he simply says, "Mine."  
  
"Hi, Shiro," he says, voice hushed, hands sliding up to loop around Shiro's neck more casually. It feels a little less dire now, knowing that Shiro's been pulled forcibly back to the present, to Keith.  
  
Bending his head, Shiro rests it against Keith's chest with a shuddering exhale, finally feeling more settled in himself. Sometimes, when the days were long, were _difficult_ , when too many buttons were pushed, it was easy to find himself back in the Galra facility, as though he can feel the absence of weight on his arm. Usually sleeping rectifies it, despite the nightmares that plague him all night. But more often than not, it's Keith who manages to get him back to the present, to where he needs to be.  
  
They remain like that for as long as Shiro needs, until he detangles Keith's arms from around his neck. It's the only indication he needs to give for Keith to drop down onto the bed next to him, waiting for Shiro to settle in before curling up against his back. There's no hesitation when Keith tangles their legs together, arms circling around Shiro's torso; one settles on his chest, while the other finds its home for the night against his abdomen. Shiro expects that to be it, to be the end of things as it usually is, except-  
  
Except tonight is different.  
  
Keith's lips press to the base of Shiro's neck, the hand on his stomach rubbing gentle circles to ease the tension that still lingers there, drifting _low_ before circling his navel again. The shudder that works through Shiro feels as though it wracks his entire body, gooseflesh forming up the length of his flesh-and-bone arm as Keith's hand never ceases its movements, and there's no hiding the fact that the longer Keith continues, the harder that Shiro's dick grows, filling quickly.  
  
As Keith's hand finally, _finally_ travels, lower, he ghosts his palm up along the length of Shiro's cock as he rolls his own hips forward to rock his own erection against the covered flesh of Shiro's ass. Shiro's own hips cant up, seeking more friction than Keith's hand is currently giving, almost cries out when it's freely given to him as Keith strokes him through his briefs in earnest, rubbing his own cock up against Shiro in time with his hand.  
  
It feels like too much, and Shiro wonders if he might actually come in his underwear, feeling like a teenager again, but just as quickly as Keith's hand started, all movement stops. Were it with anyone else, Shiro might be embarrassed by the desperate whine that grinds out of his throat from the loss, dick throbbing in his briefs in the absence of Keith's hand.  
  
Before Shiro can say anything, can question why he stopped, can ask for more, Keith is already pressing flush against his back again, murmuring into his neck. "You're perfect, Shiro. Perfect for _me_. My other half, my better one." Close enough to a whisper, his breath fans out across Shiro's skin, another shiver coursing down his spine.  
  
The temptation to argue is there, because Shiro disagrees vehemently on everything Keith is saying, but there's an undeniable rush of heat to his cock when Keith speaks, when such kind things are said, when he praises him so blatantly. It's something to linger on later, when his thoughts aren't becoming so fully consumed by Keith.  
  
Another kiss is left to Shiro's neck, then a second against his jaw, before Keith pulls way from him. It's long enough for him to roll over to his bedside table, pulling the bottle of lubricant out, before shimmying out of his boxers, Shiro having already done the same once Keith returns to his side.  
  
The positioning, however, is all wrong; Keith has a certain plan in mind, and he refuses to deviate. "Y'mind laying on your side?" And while Shiro vocalizes nothing, he does immediately adjust, rolling over to put his back to Keith once again. There's a tautness in Shiro's back, the muscles drawn tight in anticipation, and Keith lines up against his back again without a moments pause, nuzzling down against Shiro's shoulder. "We're going to take this really slow tonight," Keith tells him, and Shiro simply offers a hum for an agreement.  
  
If Keith has a plan, Shiro is on board.  
  
Flicking open the cap on the lube, Keith quickly slicks up two of his fingers before closing the lid, temporarily discarding it behind him. "Pull one of your knees up for me, Shiro." An easy instruction that Shiro follows immediately, rewarded with Keith's hand slipping down to rub both fingers over that tight ring of muscle, coating him generously with some of the lubricant from his hand. "Relax," Keith tells him, voice soft, soothing, "I've got you."  
  
And, as though those words were what he was waiting for, Shiro feels the tension begin to drain from his body. As it does, Keith begins to work his first finger inside of him, taking his time in order to avoid any level of discomfort or Shiro, refusing to rush it, something Shiro has grown accustomed to whenever they're intimate like this.  
  
Except this feels a little more- _agonizing_. It feels less like a tentativeness for the sake of Shiro's comfort, and more an intentional decision in order to drive him mad even faster than he normally would. Because regardless of how many times this has happened, regardless of the amount of times that Keith has fucked him, or the other way around, Shiro is always ready and aching within minutes, desperate for the touch of his love.  
  
However, Keith did warn that it would be slow, and slow it is.  
  
Shiro does his best to stop thinking, to only focus on the way Keith's single finger fucks into him, allowing him to acclimate fully, and only then does he add the second, pushing both in at a tortuously slow pace. Doing his best to keep his breathing even while Keith's fingers keep their agonizing pace, verging on too slow, on not enough, but Keith _knows him,_ knows his body, and keeps Shiro just on the precipice of _barely_ sufficient. It has Shiro already panting for breath, fingers tangling in the sheets beneath him in order to have _something_ to grip onto.  
  
Keith's ministrations give no indication of speeding up, but he does remove his fingers long enough to coat three this time, all of them pressing inside of him at once, stretching him so perfectly that Shiro worries he might come just from feeling Keith stuffing him full with just his fingers. Fingers curled tight into the blanket he's grounding himself to, Shiro tries to get his breathing back, to even it out as Keith fucks him open with his hand, stretches his fingers out in order to loosen him for when it's finally Keith inside of him, rather than a few fingers of preparation.  
  
Despite the impatience that curls up Shiro's spine, there's also something so erotic about Keith taking his time like this, the slow stretch of preparation, and Shiro can already feel his cock starting to dribble at the tip, precum beading from how horribly aroused he is by this. He'd beg for Keith to fuck him, if he thought it might work. (He knows it won't.)  
  
When Keith's fingers finally withdraw, Shiro's convinced that if Keith were to stroke him even once, his orgasm would ruin him. His dick is aching between his thighs, precum leaking a little more obviously now that Keith's been working him open for longer than he ever has before. And, despite already deciding there's no sense to it, Shiro can't help but ask, can't help but beg with an edge of desperation in his voice, "Keith, please. _Keith._ "  
  
A soothing hand moves up his stomach to his chest, settling at his throat and staying there for a moment before reaching down, that same hand curling around his dick. Shiro chokes on a moan, squeezing his eyes shut, his legs trembling with the effort to not fuck up into Keith's fist. "Please," he says again, pressing back against Keith's chest, against _Keith_ , "I need you, _please_."  
  
And, as though it had been what Keith was waiting for, he pulls his hand from Shiro's cock in order to slick his own with lube. Reaching down, one hand grips Shiro's thigh to lift it while Keith uses his free hand to guide his tip to nudge against Shiro's entrance. Even Keith, knowing how this was going to be, exactly how slow this would progress, has trouble holding back from fully slamming inside of Shiro, has trouble not giving in fully to what he knows Shiro wants. Because it isn't about want, not exactly; it's about how Shiro _needs_ to have his focus recentred, needs to have something to anchor himself to, and Keith is more than willing to provide.  
  
In an attempt to not reach down and start jerking himself off, Shiro reaches a hand down to overlap Keith's, forcing him to grip Shiro's thigh even harder. It gives him something else to focus on, something other than the excruciatingly slow stretch of himself around Keith's cock, or the burning heat that licks fire across Shiro's skin in anticipation. There is nothing in the universe that Shiro wants more than this right now, but he'd do just about anything to get Keith to speed up, to fuck him down into the mattress, to rake his nails down Shiro's back and give him _too many_ things to focus on at once.  
  
But instead, they have this; Keith finally bottoming out inside of him before lowering his leg, brushing Shiro's hand away from his own. Their legs are tangled together as they usually are at night, and Keith begins to set his _awful_ pace; shallow thrusts that have Keith angling his dick against Shiro's prostate, a constant onslaught of sensation from Keith's cock being buried in him to the hilt, barely pulling out before grinding back in completely. Shiro's entire body feels set aflame from it, sweating in rivulets down his forehead, his chest, panting for air as Keith continues to _barely_ move inside of him.  
  
It's maddening, and Shiro finds that every time Keith bottoms out and grinds up harder into him, the less he can focus on outside of the feeling of Keith fucking him open. It's almost enough to distract him from his dick that will barely need a _promise_ of a touch before an orgasm will strike him. But Keith never reaches around, and Shiro never makes the attempt either. Instead, too blissed out on the feeling of Keith inside of him, feeling like he might be fucking him deeper each time he rolls his hips back up again.  
  
When Keith's hand finally does lower, it's almost too much just to feel the heat of Keith's hand hovering over his too-hard cock, the head an angry red from neglect, from the overstimulation in the rest of Shiro's body. It's even difficult to understand what Keith says, but Shiro is nothing if not a dutiful listener.  
  
"Do _not_ come," Keith says through huffed breaths, clearly also struggling with not giving in. "Pull my hand away before you do. Nod if you understand." And Shiro does, immediately, quickly followed by a blatant cry of relief when the heat of Keith's hand curls around the base of his erection and begins to stroke.  
  
The rhythm of his hand is almost as excruciating as the pace he's fucking him, but Shiro can't complain; it feels too fucking good to finally have Keith _touching him_. He can feel his orgasm coming quickly, and part of him wants to give into it, wants to feel himself tighten impossibly around Keith's dick, to spill over his fingers and make a mess of the bed- Except he told Keith he understood and Shiro refuses to disappoint him. "Stop. Stop, stop, I'm-" And, before another word can be uttered, Keith's hand is absent and Shiro is gasping for air in an effort to rein himself back in, to come back from the edge.  
  
"Tell me when you're ready," Keith instructs him, voice tight as he fights to keep control, hips still working up against Shiro's as he fucks him, "because we're going to do that again."  
  
All Shiro can do is nod in acknowledgement, despite wanting nothing more than to just ask Keith to let him come already, to stop holding back. But there's something so _perfect_ about this, about losing all sense of himself and fulfilling every direction that Keith gives him instead. So, when he feels as though he's back from the edge enough, Shiro reaches for Keith's hand to guide it around his cock again, leaking precum furiously across their interlaced fingers, slicking the pump of Keith's hand.  
  
It takes much less time for Shiro to have Keith remove his hand, his entire body trembling from the force of keeping his orgasm at bay. There's barely been enough recovery time when Keith asks if he's ready again.  
  
Shiro whines, pitched low in his throat as he does his best to roll his hips back to meet Keith's next thrust, then the next, then the next, and Keith repeats his question.  
  
"I can't," Shiro admits, voice cracking with effort, "I can't, I can't."  
  
Keith's fingers ghost up along the length of him and it feels like electricity stretches out across every single one of Shiro's limbs as Keith speaks. "Are you sure?" And there's such genuine _care_ in his voice, needing to know where Shiro's limit is, being so accommodating, and Shiro knows that he can do this. He can keep going.  
  
His hand is guiding Keith's back again, nimble fingers curling tight around Shiro's cock as he strokes him in precise time with Keith's thrusts as he fucks up into him. "You look so perfect, Shiro," Keith tells him, voice strained from exertion, "So beautiful. So, so _perfect_ -"  
  
Shiro gasps for breath, turning his face into the pillow as he has to force Keith's hand away and bite down _hard_ on the pillow to keep from blowing everything and reaching orgasm. And while he can't quite place why he's not telling Keith to stop the game, Shiro _does_ know that there's a certain deep satisfaction that comes from following Keith's directions.  
  
Having been edged enough already, though- Shiro can barely keep a coherent thought, hips rolling back to meet each of Keith's thrusts, not allowing him to touch Shiro's cock due to being entirely uncertain as to if he can keep his orgasm at bay any longer. His awareness has centred in on the heat of his body, the force at which is breath leaves his lungs, and how _slowly_ Keith continues to fuck him, unrelenting.  
  
If his aim had been to get Shiro's mind off his day, it's certainly worked.  
  
Keith reaches around to rest a hand on Shiro's stomach, pushing his other half more firmly against him as he grinds up particularly deep on a thrust, causing Shiro to groan Keith's name, deep in his throat, no longer holding back any sound that might want to make its way up Shiro's throat. Keith isn't sure how he's kept it together so long, isn't sure how he hasn't started to fuck him down into the bed, but it pays off in seeing Shiro's pupils blown wide, his breath coming in harsh pants, cock leaking enough precum to almost be its own orgasm.  
  
Satisfied with how far he's pushed him, Keith thrusts in once more, bottoms out inside of Shiro, before pressing a kiss _just_ beneath his ear, mumbling into his skin, "Tell me what you want, Shiro."  
  
There's silence at first, and Keith can understand; he's edged Shiro so close to orgasm multiple times while angling his dick in such a way to rub against the deepest parts of his better half that he'd be more surprised if Shiro _did_ manage to verbalize.  
  
But he does, of course he does. Shiro is nothing if not determined. "Faster. Until you're ready, then touch me at the same time. I'm so close, Keith-"  
  
Shushing Shiro gently, Keith presses another kiss to his skin, down along his neck, before untangling their legs to give himself better leverage. He knows he won't last long, that Shiro won't, either, and Keith wants to make it _amazing._  
  
He fucks him like it's their first time; thoroughly and without pause, pulling out almost entirely before stuffing Shiro full of his cock again, picking up the pace with each thrust. He's close, he's _close_ , and when Keith can feel his orgasm curling hot in his stomach, he reaches around to stroke Shiro in rhythm with his hips. The timing isn't quite perfect, Shiro comes first in messy ropes over Keith's hand, across their bed, but Keith isn't far behind as his hips stutter in their movement, erratically pumping up into Shiro as his orgasm comes in waves, emptying himself inside of him.  
  
Keith pulls out slowly, both of them otherwise unmoving for a few minutes as they catch their breath, come back to themselves, gain some semblance of coherency again. Keith's hand strokes up and down along Shiro's side, skating his fingers over flushed skin, listening to Shiro's breathing even out. Almost certain that Shiro has fallen asleep, Keith pulls away from him, only for Shiro's hand to reach blindly behind him in Keith's absence.  
  
"Keith?" _Where are you going, what's wrong, are you okay-_ So many questions rolled into his name.  
  
Keith kneels over him, takes Shiro's hand and presses a kiss to the tip of each finger. "Need to clean up. I'll be quick." It's a promise he keeps returning from the bathroom in less than a minute, washcloths in both hands. The first is placed on Shiro's face, cool to the touch, helping to lower his body temperature to something more tolerable, while the other is pleasantly warm, Keith using it to clean Shiro's body thoroughly after having already done the same to his own. They're both in desperate need of a shower, but that's a problem for the morning.  
  
With both washcloths in the hamper, Keith helps to maneuver Shiro on the bed to pull the soiled blanket out from under him. New sheets are _also_ a problem for Morning Keith. Currently, the only thing Keith needs to do is drink half the glass of water previously brought into the room, guiding the cup into Shiro's tired hands and ensuring he drinks the other half. With the glass empty and both of them exhausted beyond words, Keith simply leans down, presses a kiss to Shiro's forehead, the tip of his nose, his lips, and finally his chin. Shiro's answering smile is enough for him before Keith turns out the lamp next to the bed, sleep immediately claiming them both.

**Author's Note:**

> AHHH THANKS FOR READING THIS GARBAGE. Scream to me on twitter [@outcrown](https://twitter.com/outcrown)


End file.
